


lover, alone without love

by orphan_account



Series: yeongeun works [4]
Category: K-pop, VIXX
Genre: Angst, Domestic Bliss, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Introspection, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-Canon, many tasty sads and many different points in the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 03:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15282327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "I won't sign again as six," Sanghyuk concludes. Hakyeon grips the cheap plastic tablecloth until its shape distorts under his fingertips.Sanghyuk wasn't the last. Hakyeon was, and his decision has been made."They all—weall said the same thing," Hakyeon reveals, and Sanghyuk's expression makes no motion toward shock or surprise."You didn't," he replies, tinged with understanding. "You waited. You—you can't—you've taken care of us for years. You can't keep putting us first. It's not fair. On anyone's side." Sanghyuk picks up the unsigned page and rips it neatly in two. "We've stayed the same, hyung. Time to change."





	lover, alone without love

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [there and back again (here, at the end of all things)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970674) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> i ran a poll on twitter. the choices were short, happy yeongeun (it was going to be a first time bottoming kind of thing, and i may still work on it) or longer, sadder yeongeun. 
> 
> the latter won, to the chagrin of all my mutuals, and so here's the disbandment fic i never wrote but did heavily imply in my first yeongeun snippet ever.
> 
> if you're here for 6vixx and would like background to yeongeun's relationship, i'm linking the longer one i wrote recently!

"'s late," Wongeun mumbles as Hakyeon slides into bed next to him, and Hakyeon makes no reply other than to pull the covers up to his chin and curl up against Wongeun's chest. "Something wrong?" he asks, and still Hakyeon can't speak, tucking himself closer. Wongeun smells like laundry and shower gel and something that Hakyeon only thinks of as _home_ , some incoherent _thing_ that means Hakyeon's cologne and the expensive pet shampoo he uses on Wongeun's latest foster puppy and the teabags he keeps next to Wongeun's canister of coffee.

It loosens the tension Hakyeon's held inside him the entire way to Wongeun's apartment, the entire way _home_ , bit by painful bit, until Wongeun reaches across Hakyeon to flip on a lamp. He falls back to the pillows and drags Hakyeon into his embrace, and Hakyeon knows with the certainty of years that Wongeun can wait him out. His hand finds Wongeun's hip and squeezes there, grounding himself. "Meeting," Hakyeon explains, forcing the words out. "Nothing I didn't know was coming. Contracts are up. It...it feels different, this time, though."

"Can they do that?" Wongeun asks, resting his chin at the crown of Hakyeon's head. "With Sanghyuk in service, can they renew them?"

Hakyeon brings his entire body to bear on his next shuddering breath, sighing it out as Wongeun's arm tightens around his waist. "He'll be on leave for a day or two, soon. That's—that's not relevant, though, it's. We agreed the first time that we'd only make a decision if it's unanimous, all six of us."

He'd sent the emails out before he'd left Jellyfish, a simple _Please review the attached_ , acknowledging nothing but the deadline.

Seven years ago, Hakyeon had not even needed the week-long grace period. He'd looked at Taekwoon across the conference table, the pair of them on the brink of mandatory service. They'd all exchanged quick glances, and Sanghyuk had said, "We should continue as six." Five echoed sentiments. Six signed contracts.

He doesn't feel the same conviction now, creeping ever closer to forty, realization encroaching that he hasn't _rested._ Is unsure if he knows _how_ to. Nearly a decade and a half after the short-lived torturous tenure of _Mydol_ , Hakyeon still feels frightened, deep in his chest, of what happens _after_.

Wongeun shifts above him, propping himself up on a forearm to look down at Hakyeon. "You don't know," Wongeun gathers. "That's what this is, you don't know. And you're not sure if they know."

Hakyeon grinds his teeth and fixes his eyes on Wongeun's collarbones and resolutely does not answer. He lets his eyelids fall shut when Wongeun's lips land at his brow, chaste and reassuring. He tips his head up to find Wongeun's mouth. Wongeun tastes like toothpaste and—

"I told you not to drink coffee before bed," Hakyeon chastises quietly. "You get all...flippy-over."

"It was decaf," Wongeun swears. "I know you count your teabags. I'm not submitting myself to that."

"Lee Wongeun," Hakyeon sighs, but there's no ire behind it, because Hakyeon _does_ count his teabags. He's lived with Jung Taekwoon long enough to become vigilant about these things. "What do you think, Lee Wongeun? What _do_ you think?"

Wongeun hums for a moment before pressing another coffee-flavored kiss to Hakyeon's lips. "I think...you should trust them. They'll make the right choice, they have good heads on their shoulders. They love each other." He pauses. "They love you just as much. So let them decide, and you decide last."

Hakyeon considers this, turns it over in his mind, and it's true, it's all true. It _feels_ true, he convinces himself, it has to feel true. Whatever they decide, they will decide together. As six, and as two.

***

If anything, Sanghyuk's shoulders have gotten broader, his form filling out until he all but looms. In combination with the severe military buzzcut, Hakyeon sees very little of the cute maknae Sanghyuk once was. Sanghyuk's smile, though—it lights up his face, no more muted or less mischievous than when Hakyeon saw it last, months ago. Sanghyuk clambers out of the rickety restaurant chair and piles Hakyeon into his arms, enveloping and insulating him. It chases out the cold reality of why they're here, just for the lingering moment Sanghyuk holds on before returning to his seat.

"The dessert menu has parfaits on it," Sanghyuk points out, and Hakyeon grudgingly flips to the offending page.

Sanghyuk asks Hakyeon for news as they eat, of VIXX and their families and _his_ family. He scans the restaurant cursorily before asking after Wongeun. He's fine, Hakyeon says, he's still a big enough pain in the ass to match Hakyeon, and Sanghyuk snorts into his ice water and repeats, _Pain in the ass_. Hakyeon doesn't beat his brassy maknae in front of God and country, and he counts it as a win for common courtesy.

After they've finished roughly a third of the menu's offerings and Hakyeon has recovered from his brief, bill-induced fainting spell, Sanghyuk looks evenly at Hakyeon and sighs. "I know why we're here, hyung. I got the email." Sanghyuk reaches into the messenger bag he's hung off the back of the chair, withdrawing a thick pile of slightly-rumpled papers. He clears a swathe of the table and sets the pile down heavily.

"Group activities..." he lists off as he flips a page. "Sole management...profits...social media responsibilities..." He reaches the end of the packet, where the signature line traces a perfect, daunting blank. He trains his gaze on Hakyeon, who meets his eyes neutrally. "I guess I must be the last one, though?"

"You are," Hakyeon confirms. "They all—everyone's decided. But we won't do anything unless we're six, you know that."

The tense hush over their table juxtaposes harshly with the liveliness of the restaurant. Laughter and the clinking of glassware set a cheery backdrop to the scene playing out between them, Sanghyuk trying to think, trying to read Hakyeon, who's learned by now to make himself illegible. It _feels_ like hours. It can't be more than a minute.

Sanghyuk picks at the lower margin of the page before him, folding it in with blunt nails until it frays. "I think," Sanghyuk begins, tentative, "it isn't fair. I think...we've done this. We've—we've all _done this_. It isn't fair _not_ to see...what else we can do." The strong muscle of his jaw works, distressed, and Hakyeon holds himself studiously rigid, hearing Sanghyuk out until the end. "I won't sign again as six," Sanghyuk concludes. "It's not fair of me to keep us all captive."

Hakyeon grips the cheap plastic tablecloth until its shape distorts under his fingertips. Don't, he tells himself. Don't. Don't _do_ anything. He doesn't have to _do_ anything, he tells himself, in a voice that reminds him achingly of Wongeun's.

Sanghyuk wasn't the last. Hakyeon was, and his decision has been made.

"They all— _we_ all said the same thing," Hakyeon reveals, and Sanghyuk's expression makes no motion toward shock or surprise.

"You didn't," he replies, tinged with understanding. "You waited. You—you can't—you've taken care of us for years. You can't keep putting us first. It's not fair. On anyone's side." Sanghyuk picks up the unsigned page and rips it neatly in two. "We've stayed the same, hyung. Time to change."

***

"Tea," Wongeun warns before setting the mug at Hakyeon's elbow. "Hot." He wanders back into the kitchen and clatters around for a bit before emerging with his own mug, coffee instead of tea. He takes a seat at the other end of the sofa and picks up his e-reader from the end table. Hakyeon pays him no real mind, staring perplexed at his laptop screen and attempting to jog his brain into diligence.

He's been operating through a haze since he turned in the six unsigned group contracts, his mind grinding to an overwhelmed halt at the granular actuality of _five days_. Five days until it all ends on paper, and Hakyeon must control things he's never learned to control.

He can hammer out a design collaboration for charity, direct rehearsal for a stadium concert, compose love songs on command, but he's never leased an apartment.

Wongeun catches how Hakyeon falls still and unseeing, gazing through his laptop, and locks his tablet. "Mm, what are you doing?" he asks, scooting closer to look over Hakyeon's shoulder. He makes a tiny noise of realization when his eyes light on apartment listings, the sea of tabs behind them titled with minute variations on  _how to lease an apartment_. Wongeun moves to place himself flush against Hakyeon's side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"How long did they give you?" Wongeun asks, and Hakyeon becomes distantly aware that he's crying, though he's unable to pinpoint exactly when it started. He closes his laptop and puts it on the coffee table, picking up his tea mug and curving himself around it so that steam and tears mix in a watery mess on his face.

"A month after the contract is up. So," he clears his throat, "so about five weeks. After that, I...don't know. It's not long enough to find an apartment, even if I knew—I don't know _how_ ," Hakyeon finishes on a frustrated sob. He's supposed to be so _good_ at things. Even if he could _think_ through the muted panic, he doesn't know _how_.

Wongeun hums again, thoughtful now, and Hakyeon takes a few swallows of his tea, until he can taste it through the tears. "You're looking at one-bedroom apartments?" Wongeun says when Hakyeon calms. "Like this one?"

Hakyeon shrugs. Wongeun squeezes his shoulders and murmurs “don't be like that” and Hakyeon forces a hitched breath, in and out.

"I've never lived alone," he confesses into his folded knees. He's never had _space_ , has no concept of how much is enough. Even here, in Wongeun's airy one-bed-one-bath, Hakyeon lives _alongside,_ twined inextricably with its other occupant.

Wongeun kneads Hakyeon's shoulder and presses dry lips to Hakyeon's temple. "Tell you what, Hakyeon-ah,” he murmurs. "We'll pack some boxes. We'll put some here. Some in storage with your mom. And if you want to, we can find a two-bedroom. Or you can take your time and find a one-bedroom."

"Wongeun," Hakyeon begins to argue, but fresh tears well up, washing out his voice. He takes another long drink of tea. "I don't need you to— _pity me_ , or fucking—"

"Cha Hakyeon," Wongeun cuts in placidly. "You do realize that you already live here? You did not wear a single article of your own clothing to work today."

"I wondered why I needed to cuff those jeans," Hakyeon admits on a wavering laugh. "I..." He finds himself at a loss, exhausted by the whiplash of suddenly dropping so heavy a burden. "If you're serious," he concedes firmly. "If you mean it."

Wongeun rolls his eyes and noses at Hakyeon's temple before kissing him again. "Ten years, _ten years._ Multiple dogs. Do I _mean_ it, he says." Hakyeon snatches Wongeun's lips with his own to prevent further mockery, and it mostly works, even if Wongeun's low laugh rumbles out into the kiss.

Hakyeon sets aside his tea and climbs into Wongeun's lap, kissing the bitter taste of coffee from his mouth. "Take me to bed, Lee Wongeun," he demands between slow, seeking kisses, and Wongeun raises an eyebrow, which means _you have two working legs._ Hakyeon flops dramatically to the side and says, in his most tragic voice, "Oh, well, I suppose I'll just _take care of it myself—_ “

Wongeun scoops him up in an ungraceful heap of limbs before he can properly begin his monologue, and Hakyeon laughs all the way to the bedroom.

***

Taekwoon's hair is powder-blue now, and he sweeps it back from his eyes, where it stays, held by stage sweat and gel. He drips more silver jewelry with every new release, Hakyeon thinks, sparkling brighter until he's blinding. The damp weight of him in Hakyeon's arms, though, and the way they fit, those things haven't changed.

"You came," Taekwoon exclaims, exhilarated, winding his limbs around Hakyeon until Hakyeon's not sure where he ends and Taekwoon begins. "I don't—of _course_ you came, but I— _Hakyeon_ ," he giggles, finally, bending down to hide his face in Hakyeon's neck. Hakyeon runs his fingertips up the shaved back of Taekwoon's neck until he hits the ends of Taekwoon's dyed hair, and massages there, force of old habit. "You brought a _lightstick._ "

"I brought banners, too," Hakyeon admits, proud. "I handed them out in line. I didn't let them take pictures of me. It's your day." He turns his head, hides a fond kiss behind Taekwoon's ear where no one can ever find it. "Congratulations, Taekwoonie. You—" Hakyeon swallows, perhaps a bit thickly, perhaps he moves restless hands over Taekwoon's back to distract himself. "You worked hard," he tells Taekwoon.

Taekwoon detaches himself, moving only far enough to rest his glittering hands either side of Hakyeon's face, the pads of his thumbs sweeping across Hakyeon's cheekbones as he grins, a breathless smile soaked in the adrenaline of his first sold-out concert. "You brought a _lightstick_ ," he sobs out, pressing his brow to Hakyeon's, a few shining tears spilling over. Shiny, shiny Taekwoon. "God, you probably learned the fanchants. Why are you like this, why are you..."

"Love," Hakyeon answers simply, and Taekwoon sinks forward into his arms again, laughing and crying and shedding glitter all over Hakyeon.

"Buy me food," Taekwoon whimpers, and Hakyeon argues that Taekwoon _just_ finished his solo concert, and Taekwoon says _you're the hyung_ and Hakyeon finds that he really doesn't mind, not as much as he pretends.

***

Wongeun sighs again, frustrated, as Hakyeon hesitates between the box labeled _Wongeun_ and the one labeled _Parents_. "Hakyeon, you can't keep everything with you." Frustration, frustration, and Hakyeon sets the form Christmas card aside with more care than he's shown Wongeun these past few days, because Hongbin's _dead grandmother_ didn't send him Wongeun. He feels his emotions crest before they crash, rising out of the sea of boxes that subsumes his kingdom.

"Leave," Hakyeon orders softly, fixing his eyes on his hands, folded in his lap. "Wongeun. I need you to leave."

"Cha Hakyeon—"

" _Leave the room, Lee Wongeun, or I swear to God—_ " Hakyeon's voice breaks before it reaches a shout, petering out into disbelieving silence.

Another sigh. Hakyeon presses his lips together against the urge to truly lay into Wongeun, peel skin from muscle with the skill of their decade together, and tension thickens the air until Wongeun says, "I'll go pack the bathroom. You figure your shit out."

Once he's well and truly alone, Hakyeon collapses under the weight of his own heart, throwing out a leg to kick his bedroom door shut behind Wongeun and folding his arms at the edge of the _Wongeun_ box just so he has somewhere to rest his head. He begs tears to come replace the shuddery heat blanketing his body, but it's long moments before he unwinds enough to cry.

It comes on like a flash flood, roiling through him and ripping him apart until all he can do is cling to himself and sob, falling in sheets, wearing him down to nothing. He hasn't cried, not in a way that _means_ anything, since their contracts ended. He’s been terrified of this, the utter inevitable helplessness of it. Every part of him _hurts._

It leaves him empty, wrung out, exhausted and uncaring. He picks up the Christmas card and drops it in the _Parents_ box. Let Wongeun have his way. Hakyeon has forfeited his ability to feel.

Knock, knock, gentle knock at Hakyeon's bedroom door. "I'm still mad at you," Hakyeon snaps. 

"Hyung," a voice floats in, and it's Jaehwan's, not Wongeun's at all. "Can I come in?"

Hakyeon sits up and hastily wipes a cuff across his face. It feels like it's creating more problems than it solves as soon as he's done it. "Of course, Jaehwannie, come in."

Jaehwan closes the door behind him, plopping down next to Hakyeon on the floor. "I heard yelling. Is—everything okay?"

A fresh wave of tears threatens to pitch Hakyeon under. Jaehwan makes a little "come here" motion with his chin and Hakyeon drapes himself across Jaehwan, drags him into a desperate embrace as he's battered all over again. Jaehwan gets an arm around Hakyeon's waist and props him up, whispering white lies about how it's all okay, hyung, all just fine, you just need a minute.

When Hakyeon's shoulders stop their violent shaking, Jaehwan relaxes against Hakyeon, allowing himself to be hugged. "Here, I brought—" he says, and produces a heap of rumpled tissues, and Hakyeon laughs and wipes his eyes and rests his head on Jaehwan's shoulder. He dabs away a few stray tears, closing his eyes and pressing a chaste kiss to Jaehwan's neck.

" _Hyung,"_ Jaehwan whines, so Hakyeon does it again. "That _tickles_."

"Hyung loves and appreciates you, Jaehwannie," Hakyeon sniffles, with a touch of the old bravado.

"Yeah, well, Wongeun was sitting on the toilet moping and I needed to pee," Jaehwan mumbles, evading Hakyeon's wandering lips. "I still need to pee."

Hakyeon gives Jaehwan a little room to breathe, but keeps him close. "So kick him out."

"You were more important." He scrambles to his feet and pulls Hakyeon with him.

"Fine," Hakyeon acquiesces. " _I'll_ kick him out."

Wongeun is still sitting on the closed toilet lid, head in one hand, a half-full box of toiletries between his splayed legs. Hakyeon squeezes Jaehwan's hand _stay here_ and steps into the cramped space. "Wongeun," he murmurs, crouching to rest a hand on Wongeun's knee.

Wongeun rakes a rough hand back through his own hair. "Have you cried it out, then," he asks, no real venom behind the words.

Hakyeon murmurs, "I'm sorry, my Wongeunnie," and catches Wongeun's lips, kisses his apology there sincere and firm.

"I love you," Wongeun breathes when they part. "We just don't have space, Hakyeon-ah. I don't mean to...to hurt you, _jagiya_ , we just don't have _space_."

Hakyeon tugs Wongeun to his feet and snatches up his hand to kiss his knuckles, one by one. "I love you, Wongeunnie. I know. I know." He holds Wongeun's hand to his cheek for a moment. "Jaehwannie needs the bathroom."

"We can't be fighting anymore because Jaehwan needs to _piss_ ," Wongeun repeats with a raised eyebrow. Hakyeon smiles blithely up at him and nods, and Wongeun's judgmental expression breaks into an answering smile. "What do you propose, then?"

"I'll pack the bathroom," Hakyeon answers, steeling himself to do the difficult thing, the _right_ thing. "You pack the bedroom. You know what's necessary as well as I do." He kisses Wongeun again so he can't see the shipwreck of emotion behind Hakyeon's eyes. "I live there already, after all."

Jaehwan bustles into the bathroom with a victory caw as Hakyeon and Wongeun emerge, and Wongeun stares at the closed door for a faintly-amused moment before kissing the top of Hakyeon's head. "I'm going to go pack your bedroom. Trust me, okay?"

"Of course," Hakyeon promises, because that's never something Hakyeon's had trouble doing.

***

"Hold on, hyung, just let me—" Hongbin juggles his laptop and his phone into the crook of his arm and closes the door to his bedroom. "Wonshik's busy with, uh, Jinyoung—no, Jaehyung—"

"Jinhwan, this month," Hakyeon corrects, after a furtive glance at the last message Wonshik had sent to their group chat. "It's Jinhwan."

Hongbin rolls his eyes. " _You_ try telling them apart when all you ever hear is Wonshik getting laid," he grumbles, setting down his laptop and propping his phone up at the corner of the screen. Hakyeon gets more of Hongbin's chin on the video call than any of his other features, and it's patently unfair that Hongbin manages to look good from this angle. He's never had a _bad_ angle, and age has done nothing to soften his sharp bone structure.

He clicks around on his laptop for a moment and then mutters, "You're going live in five, dumbasses, stop— _you're going live in five!"_ He aims a sigh at Hakyeon. "They're having internet karaoke in their stream comments."

"What song?" Hakyeon asks, settling down on the couch, stretching his legs across the cushions.

" _Dynamite_ ," Hongbin scoffs. "Obviously. It's their team name. They picked it, not me." To his laptop, he says, "I'm muting all of you and turning off my mic. Grownups are talking. Do something interesting if you need me. Don't ruin all your careers." He settles back in his computer chair and returns his attention to Hakyeon. "Okay, hyung, shoot."

Hakyeon gropes around on the end table behind him, brandishing a white envelope at his phone camera. "I got an invitation to your movie premiere!" He shakes the envelope a bit for emphasis. 

Hongbin's lips press together, squashing down a smile. "And are you planning on going?"

"Will you be there?" Hakyeon retorts, and Hongbin's expression contorts into reluctant confession.

"No, I'll be in America," he admits wryly. "The kids have a tournament. They're up against Yoongi's kids, among others. Prize money's good, title's better."

Hakyeon's heart falls with familiar loss even as he tries for contingency plans, begging them to form from quiet, ever-present yearning. Hongbin is easier to _see_ these days than Jaehwan or Sanghyuk. Hongbin's still not _easy_. Hakyeon comes up blank, and something must show in his face, because Hongbin reaches out, his thumb stroking the edge of his phone as if he can physically touch Hakyeon, reassure in the language he's learned to speak with the five of them.

"Hyung," Hongbin says, his voice tight. "It's just a premiere. You should go, schmooze, drink expensive wine. Take Wongeun."

"I want to take _you_ ," Hakyeon pouts. "I don't—I don't _miss_ Wongeun, I see Wongeun every day. Or. Most days."

Hongbin laughs, short and clipped, and turns his face away so Hakyeon can only see the gleam of overhead light on his cheekbone. "I...hyung, you _have_ to know I miss you. That's...that's." He looks up at the ceiling for a drawn-out moment, and Hakyeon sees him blink a few rapid times, eyelashes dropping repeatedly to his cheeks. He takes a deep breath, exhaling as his gaze moves back to the camera. "I'll be back in Seoul probably a few days after the movie premieres. I'll...I'll _make_ time. I'll come over and watch it with you."

Hakyeon's throat tightens painfully and his heart swells upward to close it off entirely. "You don't have to," he manages, sounds nearly _normal_ , his voice wavering only a little. "We're all busy."

"Hyung," Hongbin says sharply. Then, softer, "Hyung. There's not a lot I wouldn't do for you. You know that. Don't say stupid things."

A long pause stretches out between them, lined with the nearly-plural decades they've known one another. Hakyeon thinks, not for the first time, that he's _done_ so much already, padded his resume to bursting, but his five boys, now grown men, are the best thing he will ever achieve.

The silence finally breaks when Hakyeon finds his voice, a few words, enough to pray that Hongbin hears what he means when he says, "Okay, then. I'll put you on the calendar. Just give me a date."

***

Wongeun rips open another box and says, "More clothes, Hakyeon, always more clothes. Why do you _have_ this many clothes if you're just going to steal mine?"

Hakyeon peers into the box. "I'm not entirely certain all of those were originally mine." Wongeun snorts and carries the box into the bedroom, where Hakyeon follows, rubbing gingerly at the twinging muscles of his back. "Wongeunnie, leave them until tomorrow, help me find my medicine."

Wongeun shuts a drawer with finality and dusts off his hands. "If it's your back, there's still..." He rummages around in the nightstand and emerges triumphant with one pill rattling around inside a pharmacy bottle. "I'll bring you some water. You lie down."

"I don't need to—" Hakyeon protests, but a sharp spasm causes him to grit his teeth mid-sentence.

"Lie _down_ ," Wongeun orders, and when he returns with a bottle of water and a single muscle relaxant, Hakyeon's lying on his stomach, breathing through throbbing pain from an old wound.

Wongeun has long since learned the tricks for working knots from the surrounding muscles, tight with anticipation of pain, and he positions himself astride Hakyeon's thighs and touches Hakyeon's oversensitive skin lightly. "Hurt too much?"

It hurts, it _stings_ , but Hakyeon shakes his head. It doesn't sting for long as Wongeun starts massaging outward, it never does, and Hakyeon groans, long and drawn-out, as Wongeun's thumbs dig into the base of his spine. A quiet grinding sound and a gruesome pop follow as Hakyeon shifts his hips, and Wongeun sighs. "Good noise, though? That's a good noise." 

"That's a good noise," Hakyeon confirms into the pillow, shutting his eyes as Wongeun's hands meander farther afield, sweeping paths across Hakyeon's bare back, no real aim in the motions. The mattress shifts as he bends down and presses a kiss to Hakyeon's shoulder, and Hakyeon props himself up on an elbow to catch Wongeun's lips with his own.

Wongeun flops down to land on his stomach next to Hakyeon, flinging an arm across Hakyeon's shoulders, careful to avoid his tender back. Hakyeon kisses him again, but doesn't risk moving too far, so Wongeun curls in closer to compensate.

"You fucked it harder when you went active duty," Wongeun admonishes, and Hakyeon presses his mouth into a thin line. It's an exchange they've had many times, and it only ever ends in the same stalemate and nothing to be done about it. Time and patience, and Hakyeon's muscles knitting their ever-slower way back to normal. "Hakyeon-ah..."

"It's fine," Hakyeon says forcefully. "It's fine. It _has_ to be fine."

"I'd say I can't believe you, but I _know_ you," Wongeun breathes. "I can't believe they _let_ you."

"They need someone to choreograph." Another battle they've fought since Jellyfish Entertainment presented their permanent job offer to Hakyeon. "I'm the obvious choice."

"They _know_ you have—"

"They _know_ ," Hakyeon cuts him off firmly, "that I've worked through it, my entire career. I won't be onstage. It will be. _Fine_."

Hakyeon turns his head so that he doesn't have to see the way Wongeun's mouth thins into a worried line, but he feels the gentle touch at the dip of his lower back, and it's nearly the same.

***

Wongeun's arms band around Hakyeon's waist, and his body presses a warm weight where he crowds up behind Hakyeon, kissing Hakyeon's neck sleepily. Hakyeon rinses another plate and puts it in the rack to dry.

"Mmm, hi there. Good nap?" he asks, ignoring Wongeun's hips pushing against his ass, his hard cock an erotic line of heat. Hakyeon redoubles his focus on getting the dishes done, piled up after a visit from three of Wongeun's colleagues.

"Good nap," Wongeun confirms, lifting his head to kiss wetly at Hakyeon's jaw. Hakyeon laughs and splashes him with tap water, and he says, "Fine, I _won't_ tell you what I dreamed. You can suffer in ignorance."

Hakyeon sways his hips back to grind pointedly against Wongeun's dick, and Wongeun's head drops forward to Hakyeon's shoulder. "I think I _know_ what you dreamed." He shifts dishes around idly, leveling an appraising look at the nearly-full drying rack to determine his plan of attack. "Were you fucking me?"

Wongeun contorts himself so that Hakyeon is forced to bear eyewitness to his deep, puffy-eyed pout. "No," he hedges. " _You_ were fucking _me_. I came in here to seduce you. Are you seduced?"

"You came in here to get coffee, and you know it," Hakyeon admonishes weakly, and Wongeun perks up.

"There's coffee?" Hakyeon puts another plate to the side and nods an affirmative, taking off his dish gloves and turning around to pull Wongeun in for a long, lazy kiss. Water seeps through his thin studio pants as his ass hits the edge of the sink and he grimaces, but he's appeased somewhat by the thorough grope he manages to get in before Wongeun mumbles "you're the light of my life, Cha Hakyeon“ and lurches over to the coffeemaker.

Wongeun's barely poured his coffee when a knock sounds on the apartment door. Hakyeon shoots a baleful, squinty glare across the kitchen to where Wongeun's frozen with a brimming mouthful of coffee. He swallows and shrugs in answer to Hakyeon's suspicion. "No _people_ for the weekend, we _agreed_ ," Hakyeon accuses, and Wongeun shrugs again.

"Your guess is as good as mine, Cha Hakyeon” he admits, but slouches into the living room to answer the door. Hakyeon casts a regretful look down at the mountain of dirty dishes he has yet to conquer and removes his dish gloves once more in defeat.

"It's for you, crisis control-hyung," Wongeun quips when he sidles back into the kitchen. "You go, I'll make tea."

"Tea?" Hakyeon wonders, and Wongeun gives him an expectant eyebrow-raise. "Going, going."

Their loveseat is currently taken up by none other than an abjectly forlorn Kim Wonshik, who stands up and launches himself into Hakyeon's arms with a wretched cry of, " _Hyung_." Hakyeon's emotions whirl through confusion and outrage, settle on smarting sympathy, and he holds Wonshik as close as he physically can, trying to convey the love he feels through the wiry strength of his arms.

"Oh, my Wonshikkie," he murmurs, tracing an unbroken line up and down Wonshik's spine with one hand. "My Wonshik, my Wonshik. Ah, what's wrong, don't cry, Wonshikkie, ah..."

Wonshik stays silent, shaking against Hakyeon's chest until Wongeun returns, tacitly placing two mugs of tea on their coffee table and giving Hakyeon a few rough hand gestures that translate to _I'll be in the kitchen finishing up the dishes_. Wonshik detaches himself from Hakyeon as Wongeun leaves the room again, returning to the loveseat and curling in on himself, looking utterly lost. He rubs an absent fingertip around the rim of his mug.

"Hongbin and I fought," Wonshik finally says, apropos of nothing. When Hakyeon opens his mouth, outraged, Wonshik shakes his head. "Jinhwan started it. Hongbin doesn't start fights. Hongbin—"

"Hongbin finishes them," Hakyeon agrees.

Wonshik's fingertip fumbles into his too-hot tea, and he hisses a breath between his teeth as it scalds him. He sticks the offending finger into his mouth and makes a pathetic little noise before removing it. "Hongbin wasn't... _wrong_. I—hyung, I— What do I _do_?" Wonshik's breath leaves him in an agonized rattle. "What do I do if I—I think I—" His words stop in his throat and he forces a breath through.

Hakyeon knows it's coming, has seen it for years, but it does nearly nothing to dull the icy shock of Wonshik's muted, "I love Jaehwan. Am _in love_. With Jaehwan."

It takes Hakyeon a moment to catch up, Wonshik's crestfallen expression shaking him to his core, and Hakyeon takes a burning sip of tea and replaces his mug on the table with too much force. "Wonshik-ah," he says firmly. "That's not _bad_. That's not a _bad_ thing. You're not— _bad_ or _wrong_ or—"

"You and Wongeun," Wonshik's words rush out, cutting him off. "You're—"

Alarm and panic, his old friends, rear their hideous heads and make themselves known in the sudden tremble of his hands. Hakyeon's eyes narrow toward Wonshik as he folds his hands atop his knees. "Choose your next words very carefully, Kim Wonshik," he warns, and Wonshik balks.

"...roommates," he finishes lamely. "You're roommates."

Laughter, choked and boisterous, shatters the tension in the room. Hakyeon puts a hand to his brow and conceals a smile behind his forearm as he catches sight of Wongeun, hip cocked contrapposto as he stands on the threshold of kitchen and living room.

Wongeun's got another cup of coffee in his clutches as he comes to sit next to Hakyeon, leaving safe, comfortable, practiced distance between them. He takes a swig of his coffee before he says, "We _are_ roommates, Hakyeon."

Wonshik looks between the two of them helplessly as Hakyeon suppresses a smile by turning it into a fractious scowl. "Hyung," Wonshik pleads, and both Wongeun and Hakyeon immediately snap to attention. "Hakyeon-hyung," he amends. "How did you ask Wongeun to be your...roommate."

"Wongeun has _dishes to do—_ " Hakyeon tries, but Wongeun just smiles beatifically over at Hakyeon and says that he finished them while Wonshik and Hakyeon were posturing.

"To answer your question," Wongeun says serenely, swirling his coffee mug thoughtfully, "a lot of crying. Not your best example."

Hakyeon resists the urge to tackle Wongeun off the couch just to hear his ass hit the ground, because he may be remarkably well-preserved but he is not, in fact, 25 years old anymore. "Jaehwan likes—what, food and grand gestures." To Hakyeon's eternal credit, he keeps most of his potential sniping under careful restraint. "Give him one of those."

"Don't cry until after," Wongeun advises sagely, and Hakyeon is a patient, patient man, but a saint he is not. He jabs an elbow into Wongeun's ribs as Wonshik stifles a laugh. Wongeun just levels Hakyeon with his least-impressed look, like Hakyeon doesn't _know_ his angle after a decade of this. To Wonshik, Wongeun says, "You're a big-shot producer, he'll swoon right into a lease agreement."

From there, it's a matter of wrapping up the conversation with a few encouraging remarks, until Wonshik's turning his bashful tail out the door, promising to make up with Hongbin and figure something out for Jaehwan. Hakyeon cheers him on breezily, rounding on Wongeun as soon as the bolt clicks into place.

"Lee. Won. Geun," he grits out, grabbing a fistful of Wongeun's t-shirt and hauling him toward the bedroom. Wongeun's smile is far too smug for someone whose ass is about to get the pounding Hakyeon's planning on giving him, but Hakyeon's not as rough as he could be when he tosses Wongeun onto the bed. "You want to get fucked _that bad_."

Wongeun sits up far enough to get his hand down Hakyeon's studio pants, and Hakyeon climbs on the bed to kneel over Wongeun, pushing his hips into the contact. "Put it in me, roommate," Wongeun says gleefully, and Hakyeon sighs, but shoves his pants down all the same.

***

Hakyeon's drafted this speech before. Twice before, actually—and for the second draft, he'd only gone back through his files six years, to 2013 and the brink of disbandment. He'd changed a few key phrases, saved it, and put it in the cloud where he wouldn't see it lurking among files of family photos and graduate school essays.

He hadn't needed it the second time, either; he'd updated it. Changed a few key phrases. Put it back in the cloud where he wouldn't see it lurking among files of family photos and his old school essays.

Now, he changes the date at the top-right of the page, sighs, and attaches it unaltered to an email. Traipses into Taekwoon's bedroom, where Taekwoon has paused for a mid-moving nap, and slides into bed next to him. Taekwoon mumbles a sleepy complaint and flings an arm out to coax Hakyeon closer.

When Hakyeon wakes, Jellyfish PR have sent back their revisions on his statement. They've made personal what previously was impersonal, and taken out all of Hakyeon's own voice, replacing it with the cool tenor of public relations expertise. 

They'll take questions, once it's read. This is not the beginning and end of a press conference, merely the former. The personal touch comes from the combined presence of everyone there _except_ Hakyeon. Hazards of signing on as the company mouthpiece.

Once he's scanned through the revised statement, Hakyeon checks it off the "do this _today_ and no later" list emailed to him in the wee hours of this morning. " _Fancafe post_ " looms innocently beneath " _Submit press statement."_ Hakyeon opens a new document and stares at the blinking cursor, at a loss.

It makes sense, all at once, to depersonalize his statement. Otherwise, it runs an ever-present risk of revealing _too much_. "The fancafe will be closing soon!" versus confession after confession of every little lie and deception from the six of them to the fans, mixing and mingling over the years until they became inextricable from joy and elation. Harmless things. No, oppa hasn't eaten yet today, he woke up late and missed breakfast. Caffeine is his appetite suppressant until lunchtime.

No, oppa wasn't thinking of you. He was thinking of a faceless, nameless woman who represents nothing but freedom from constant scrutiny. He was thinking of his piano. He was thinking of his lover.

But sometimes, sometimes, he was thinking of you.

Hakyeon titles the post " _The Fancafe Will Be Closing Soon!_ " and copies the press statement into the text box. He adds a few things back in that were recently cut, searches back through old files to find sentiments from years past. Puts those in as well, ends it with a picture Wonshik had taken of the six of them at dinner last night. Ends it with _VIXX will always be six! We hope to shine on our own, always, with the memory of starlight._

***

Hakyeon's phone goes off with a cheery bubbling sound, and he ducks off to the side and pauses the music blaring through the dance studio. "Sorry, it's Ken, I have to take this. Chiyo, you're in charge until I come back." Chiyo throws him a little mock salute and Hakyeon skitters into the cramped recording room at the back of the studio, shutting the door and flipping on the lights.

Jaehwan's face pops up on the phone screen, shattering into pixels for a moment before reconvening as Hakyeon settles in a padded folding chair. "Hyung," Jaehwan starts, forgoing any pretense at social niceties, which mostly means nothing's changed. "Are you the reason Wonshik showed up in Taipei at three in the morning with half a dessert cart?"

"In my defense, I did say 'get him _one_ of those,'" Hakyeon defends. "And?"

"And now I have all this _cake_ ," Jaehwan whines. "What do you mean, 'and?' I got him a backstage pass to a sold-out production and fucked him in front of the biggest mirror I have." Hakyeon's face scrunches up in a full-body wince, but Jaehwan ignores him, sighing, heavy, as if the weight of the dessert cart has fallen on his bony shoulders.

Hakyeon unscrunches his face, feature by feature. "He's in love with you," he murmurs, warily avoiding any lurking eavesdroppers. "He's—"

"He's _been_ in love with me, I know," Jaehwan groans. "We fucked before, when he first came back from service." Hakyeon's stomach drops into a cloud of cold horror before he remembers himself—no, they're not _six_ anymore, there's no scandal here for anyone but Jaehwan and Wonshik, and it isn't...like it was, then. Years wear on and slowly, ever so slowly, things change. "We fucked, and I'm busy, he's busy, I— It's been good, while he's been here." Jaehwan's voice goes quiet, intimate, like he's unsure he's allowed to speak. It's nothing like Jaehwan, and it hooks behind Hakyeon's heart and tugs sharply. "Hyung, it's been _so_ good."

"Wonshik is a good man," Hakyeon says, stilted. Jaehwan's eyes drop from Hakyeon's face, his phone falling with his hands to rest on his lap.

"Yes," Jaehwan agrees, still so quiet, barely whispering. Hakyeon strains to hear every word. "Always. Even when he was with Heiran, for that long, he—" Jaehwan swallows. "He's never been my good man, though, hyung." He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't think I know what to _do_ with something that good."

Hakyeon pushes a hand into his sweaty hair and rakes it back from his face, exhaling an exhausted _whoosh_. "It's cake and plane tickets. It isn't..." he trails off. "It's not anything. Not unless you both say so." He thinks of reading off prescription numbers to Wongeun, of Wongeun asking, bleary-eyed before coffee, _Did you remember to call your sister? We can take your nephew for the weekend._

Jaehwan is silent for a bit, taking in the point, chewing on it. "I don't know," he says finally, a hint of the old whine at the edge of it. "I don't _know_ ," louder, "hyung, how did you _know_ , when did you _know_ , it's not some _girl_ I've met at some _boba_ _shop_! Hyung, it's _Wonshik_ ," Jaehwan sobs finally, his head dropping into a hand. "I can't—"

Hakyeon feels the distance between the six of them more keenly with each passing day. If he drove across districts, he'd reach an apartment where Jaehwan's bedroom lies vacant, where Taekwoon's spending his off-season. He can't draw Jaehwan into forceful arms and demand he hush, stop saying nonsense, of course Jaehwannie deserves the best. Whatever the best may be.

He can only clench a harsh fist in his own hair and choke back his own sympathy-dread and string words together in new ways, placing his faith in an ability he never had, never _needed_ , before the five of them.

"Talk to him," Hakyeon murmurs. "You have to be—you have to be the firm one, Jaehwannie, you know he's always been so ready to fit himself to you. If you want to try," his voice steadies, gaining confidence. "If you want to try, you can't let Wonshik shape himself to you. You have to fit with him, too."

Jaehwan hides a sniffle behind the heel of his hand. "I thought I'd be better at things when I got older," he laughs, watery.

"You mostly just get better at faking it," Hakyeon admits, dropping his hand from his hair. "You do that for a living. You'll do fine, Jaehwannie."

 _"Seonsangniiiiim!"_ comes a plaintive scream from the dance studio. _"You've been gone forever and Chiyo is trying to institute a reign of tyranny again!"_

Jaehwan bursts into a fit of giggles, more genuine now than his shaky laughter. "Sounds like you've got your hands full, hyung."

“Chiyo-yah is the best tyrant those five could ask for," Hakyeon sniffs. "I'd better go make sure no one gets any new bruises, though."

"Sure, hyung," Jaehwan laughs. "I'll...I'll call you. When we figure things out."

"You're both mine," Hakyeon promises. "You're mine, always."

"It doesn't change?" A beat. "It doesn't—"

"Always," Hakyeon repeats, more firmly. "Both of you. Always." He takes one more deep, bracing breath. "I'll talk to you soon, Jaehwannie." Jaehwan hangs up first, and Hakyeon's joints protest stiffly when he stands, stretching his limbs up toward the ceiling.

_"Seonsangniiiiim!"_

_"I'm coming! Chiyo, stop beating your members! I don't care_ what _they said about your cooking!"_

Hakyeon turns out the lights and shuts the door and returns, by himself, to his own life.

**Author's Note:**

> please do leave a comment~
> 
> [twt](http://twitter.com/elysiyeon)
> 
> [tumblr](http://rapjoonhyung.tumblr.com)


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